***
Before the blinding light could even fade from their eyes, a cold breeze swept in from the side, carrying the faint, sweet perfume of wildflowers mingled with damp earth.
The group inhaled deeply, their senses awakening to the plane's essence before their vision cleared. It did not disappoint. A cool, summertime gust rustled their clothes, and as they blinked open their eyes, they beheld an open field awash with vibrant blooms—crimson poppies, golden sunflowers, and delicate lavender swaying in unison. Towering twin mountains loomed in the distance, their jagged peaks piercing a cerulean sky, while a dense forest flanked the edges of the clearing. They stood in the heart of it all, atop a gentle hill that offered a breathtaking vista but little else.
For a trial ground, it was a nightmare. The wide openness provided no shelter from incoming projectiles; the humid air promised to turn the soil into treacherous mud underfoot. With no natural cover, they were funneled into a brutal frontal assault. Behind them yawned a sheer cliff, its drop certain to shatter bones—or end lives outright—for anyone who stumbled too far.
The scenic view was simply... Heavenly, the sun's light stood tall illuminating the weeds and grass. The twin peaks have the view an air of mystical power, while the field itself and the flowers were.... In simple terms beautiful.
For a moment Akhu pondered, if death really was to come this would be an ideal location for a grave.
While the majority marveled at the scenery, spirits momentarily lifted by its heavenly allure, the leaders fell silent, their faces etched with grim calculation. A tall lean woman scanned the treeline, her jaw tight. "This isn't paradise," she muttered to the cluster of leaders nearby. "It's a killbox. No high ground we can claim, no flanks to secure. One wrong move, and we're picked off."
Akira, standing beside her with Kaede clutching his arm, nodded slowly, his voice a low rumble. "Move forward? Into those woods? Who knows if there's an ambush. Arrows from the shadows, or worse—traps in the underbrush."
Kaede's eyes darted nervously. "And the cliff... one push from the front and we could fall to our deaths, We're trapped aren't we ?" Came her frightened voice.
The leaders exchanged uneasy glances, the weight of 79 lives pressing down like the humid air. What could they do? Charge blindly? Dig in and pray?
Suddenly, a tall, lean figure with sun-kissed tan skin stepped forward from the crowd, commanding attention without a shout. She was a woman of striking presence—5'11" with dark locks cascading wildly, dressed in a practical sports bra beneath an open jacket and tight yoga pants that hugged her athletic frame. Her voice cut through the murmurs like a steady blade.
"The area might seem idyllic," she called out calmly, her tone brooking no argument, "but we're at a clear disadvantage here. No eyes on ambushes from the sides, no cover beyond our shields. Don't rush ahead—wait. We strategize first, or we die scattered."
The other leaders nodded in tense agreement, murmuring her name—Myra—as they huddled closer. Akhu, lingering at the edge of the group, caught it from their hushed exchange. He was dazed, tilting his head skyward, squinting at the sun's relentless glare. The scene stirred a buried memory from his youth: a movie about a castaway stranded on a lush island, surviving against impossible odds. There was a shot just like this—cliff at the back, endless expanse ahead, evoking isolation so profound it chilled the soul. *Am I the castaway now?* he wondered, a knot of dread twisting in his gut. *Or just fodder in someone else's story?*
No one rushed. Wisdom prevailed over panic; de-grouping meant death in vain. The scenery whispered of heaven, but it felt too pristine, too perfect—a siren's lure.
And oh, how right they were.
Before the leaders could solidify a plan, a thunderous horn blared from between the twin mountains, shattering the fragile calm. Vibrations rattled through the hill, hearts pounding in sync.
Everyone whipped their gazes toward the sound. *Poof.* Tryl materialized mid-air, grinning in his nauseating finery—silks dripping with grotesque jewels, eyes gleaming with malice. "Round one begins!" he crowed, voice amplified like a god's decree. "Humanity's survival clock... ticks now!" With a mocking flourish, he ascended beyond sight, a distant speck against the sun. Squinting futilely, the group seethed in powerless rage—no words, no justice in this twisted game.
Formations snapped into place with frantic efficiency: archers to the rear, shields locked in front, melee fighters braced at the vanguard. Crude, barbaric, savage—but for civilians thrust into war, it was the best they could muster in minutes.
Shadows stretched across the field as the enemy approached, accompanied by sickening peals of laughter and guttural gurgles that curdled the air. Breath held collectively; pulses thundered. Akira and Kaede anchored the center, shielding the women, elderly, and children huddled there, their wide eyes brimming with terror.
"Steady," Myra barked from the front line, her voice a lifeline. "George!! Gather the leads."
A bitter chuckle escaped one fighter nearby. Death seemed inevitable even with their tall frames how many could they take before dozens came at them at once.
Yet it was funny, There were no disputes about listening to a woman nor a different race democracy was the glistening rule here, it appeared modernity sometimes had it's own charm even in the world of the barbaric.
The ground quaked beneath them, dust rising like a veil. The enemies outnumbered them vastly—hundreds, by the tremors. Akhu, delegated to the middle due to his slender build, felt utterly helpless, his thin frame weak yet it stood tall as he peered through the ranks. The shadows resolved into forms: short, no taller than dwarves or midgets, but twisted. Pointed ears, stick-thin limbs, potbellies jiggling under loincloths alone. *Goblins.* Hundreds of them, just like in the games he'd played late into the night. Yellowed teeth gnashed in frenzy; crude weapons glinted.
Weapon's daggers, sticks and rocks in hand they charged with sickening laughter as if they knew victory was at hand.
Their stature short, a midgets height some stumbled some crashed into others clearly these foes were not the smartest ones they would face.
Yet no one underestimated the horde. How could they? Against their ragtag 79—including the frail, the young, the untested—it was slaughter in waiting. It was ludicrous the sheer disparity in their strength and numbers was borderline insane to be called a fair-fight.
The vanguard raised arms in silent signal. Archers nocked arrows, fingers white-knuckled, breaths ragged with fear.
"Hold!" The vanguard's command rang out, steel-edged. "Hold... until they're in range!"
The goblins closed to mere dozens of meters, shrieking promises of agony. A child whimpered in the center; a grandmother clutched a spear with shaking hands, whispering prayers.
"Now—*FIRE!*"
Arrows loosed in a chaotic rain, streaking high and low. Not all struck true; few foes dropped outright. But the damage landed—piercings drawing ichor, sowing chaos in the front ranks. Goblins howled, some clutching shafts as they stumbled.
Shields up, Guts firm—spears pointed upwards, The fight was starting and every soul felt an innate fear of death seeing their foe. The line braced, humanity's fragile wall against the tide. Spears gleamed like desperate fangs.
Finally,
War had come.
***